Bethel's Meadow Read Online Free PDF Page B

an expansive, almost completely transparent pond so calm that it barely made a ripple. The pond’s surface mirrored the images of the marshmallow clouds and aqua-colored sky from above, making it appear like a freshly painted mural. My, my, I thought, what a magnificent work of art. I looked up and saw a flock of terns gently splash at the edge of the pond, later joined by the most gorgeous swans my eyes have ever beheld. And then I looked down and there was an acoustic guitar in my hands. I was strumming and singing along with Pink Floyd’s “Fat Old Sun.” As I was singing there was a cool breeze relieving my skin of the heat radiating from . . . the fat old sun. I felt light as a feather. There was nothing on my mind at all. I didn’t have a single damned worry in the world. I didn’t feel sick, either. It was a setting so peaceful and serene that I thought I must be in Heaven. . . .
    But it was a vision so fantastic and so liberating that I quickly snapped out of it, no longer fooled into believing it was real. Okay, perhaps it had only been a dream, but for those five minutes it felt as real as anything I had ever experienced in my life. When I broke away from it, I would have killed at that very instant to have regained that vision, dream, or whatever you want to call it. If any human had been responsible for stealing it from me, I would have murdered him for doing it, without thought or remorse.
    I wanted it back and I wanted it back desperately. I remained in the tub and closed my eyes, trying to restore the sublime vision of the meadow. I lay that way for an hour, but it never came back to me. Maybe I was trying too hard.
    I finally gave up. If I couldn’t be in the meadow again, I could at least replicate one or two elements of the vision easily enough: the guitar and the music I was making with it.
    As sick as I was feeling, I got out of the tub and went to the music store and bought a guitar.
    …
     
    Two hours later I was the owner of a Taylor brand acoustic guitar. Including tax, additional strings, and accessories to keep it clean and in tune, the rig set me back nearly a thousand dollars. Though I only had about sixty grand left to live on until I found a new job, I didn’t hesitate to make the purchase. And now that I had it at home, I needed to learn how to play this gorgeous instrument. So I powered up my computer and got on the Web. I soon discovered a site that offered beginner-level lessons for thirteen dollars a month. I signed up, and within an hour I was strumming simple chords and picking out simple one-note melodies.
    As I played I hoped that none of the strings snapped because I had no clue how to replace a broken one. As with all challenges in life, I figured YouTube would help bail me out when the time came.
    For two hours I diligently followed the instructions of my online teacher, and I was having a ball strumming the chords to “House of the Rising Sun”—until my cell phone buzzed.
    It was Caitlin.
    “’Sup, Cait?”
    “What are you so happy about?” But before I could answer, she said, “Oh, never mind. Baby, guess what?” Her tone changed in an instant. She seemed overjoyed, which was kind of a rare thing for her.
    “What?” I answered.
    “Chicken butt,” Caitlin said, and then she laughed uproariously. I couldn’t believe I fell for that old gag. I hated it when she got in a jocular mood. It usually meant she’d been drinking. Caitlin could really slam them down once she got started.
    “Are you drunk?” I asked.
    “Baby, I am soooo excited. The Mickey Mouse that was supposed to go on the Minneapolis trip got sick. They asked me to fill in. This is so fabulous .” When she said “fabulous,” it came out as fab-oo-lus .
    “When’s the trip?” I said.
    “Baby, I’m on my way to the airport now.” She was indeed very excited. Caitlin had often told me about all the fun the crew had on those cross-country excursions. Before we met she’d gone on those